The buzz of my phone disperses the thought like a plane hurtling through a cloud. Setting my untouched plate onto the buffet, I slide a hand down the bodice of my dress and fish it out. One look at the screen and every drop of blood in my veins crystallizes on the spot.
Klaus
Can I see you tonight?
Five little words. Instant full nuclear emotional payload.
No. No, no, no. God no. Not now.
It’s not sadness that hits me, but panic with a side of frustration. Becauseof coursehe would pick tonight.Of coursehe would waitalmost three monthsand then break the silence—when I’ve just committed to a life of good decisions and emotional detox.
I down the champagne in one gulp, a detail Alma doesn’t miss.
She stiffens like a mother hen sensing danger. “What happened? Did someone die? Did you read a spoiler? Please don’t tell me the chocolate fountain stopped working…”
Wordlessly, I tilt my phone toward her.
Her eyebrows shoot up behind her mask, brown eyes flicking my way. “Oh,hellno.”
“I haven’t spoken to him since before Halloween,” I explain. “Nick, either.”
“And he didn’t reach out, right?”
“Correct. So why break the stalemate tonight?”
“Because men have a sixth sense for when you’re finally moving on.” She rolls her eyes. “They smell progress and come running like raccoons to a trash can.”
I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I knew this resolution would be hard, but not pre-midnight hard.”
Alma snatches my phone, shoves it back between my cleavage, and replaces my empty flute with a full one. “Here. Drink and reset. He isnotderailing your night.”
“I’m not derailed.”
Setting her plate down beside mine, she gives me that look, the kind that saysyou’re absolutely derailed and I love you anyway.“Noelle, babe, you cannot start a drama cleanse and then shotgun emotional poison.”
“It’s just a text,” I insist.
“It’s aKlaustext,” she fires back, and while it isn’t the sharpest arrow ever thrown my way, I wince nonetheless.
“Okay, fair.”
Smirking in satisfaction, my work wife loops her arm through mine and begins tugging me away, leaving our food—forgotten, abandoned, probably crying—on the table. “And now we’re leaving before you get any bright ideas about replying.”
“I’m not!” I scoff.
“Youare.You’re already thinking about what you’d say back, which isn’t happening. Not tonight, anyway. What you do after the new year is your business. Right now, you need a distraction. Movement. Ideally, someone else’s cologne wafting into your general orbit.”
I blink at her. “So…the dance floor?”
A devilish grin slithers across her face. “Exactly.”
Before I can argue, she drags me toward the disco ball. The music deepens, vibrating through the parquet floor into the soles of my heels and up my spine. People dance all around us—masks glinting, dresses swishing, bodies pressed close.
“Come on!” she shouts as she spins me into an open space. “Shake off the ghosts of Klaus and Nick-past!”
“That’s not… That’s not a thing!” I yell back.
“It is if I say it is!”
